I Was Perfect
by Vision in Blue
Summary: "What happened?" she asked sadly.  "I thought you were supposed to be good."  Natalie/Angst.  My author's note nearly surpasses my fic in length.  Drabble.


It Was Perfect

**A/N: There's tension in the section.**

**If you choose to deny it, then just click the tiny 'X' in the top right hand corner of your screen- I don't care if you stay to read or not.**

**Writing isn't about getting reviewers, or posting 100 pieces. This isn't about claiming control of a section, or forming cliques (again, deny and that 'X' button awaits you). **

**Writing has criticism. Part of writing is growing and going back to improve yourself. Sometimes this criticism is unjust, and sometimes it is a bit attack-like, but usually there's some merit behind such acts. (Not condoning attacks- it's just a very strong opinion that could be worded more constructively.) Writing as an art form has some degree of criticism, and writing professionally has a great deal more. Not everyone is going to love you, and if you let that stop you from doing what you love, you must not love it very much. (The self-esteem excuse is invalid. See also, my incredibly low self worth.)**

**That being said, I don't think backlash is a solution either. I get frustrated, too, because I put a lot of thought and work into my writing, I sit down for a while and actually think about characterization, word choice, symbolism, etc. I've realized something, though. In the end of the day, I don't like everyone, and everyone doesn't like me. I write for myself- not for a public. I could care less about reviews, but I like getting recognized. So this is a public call to attention to just fix your grammar, not get a big head, and don't start any wars or anything. (I'm also not saying I'm holy and above this- I'll work on it, too.)**

**PS I don't hate anyone…so don't hate on me. [Goodbye, Henry.]**

**So now that I've gotten that off my chest, and I've offended just about everyone, how about some writing? Heheh.**

**Disclaimer: I own my opinion, I own my take on the characters. The actual characters, however…**

It's perfect. The notes blended correctly every which way, no matter what the composer threw at me. Suck it, Mozart, I handled your crazy chords. I closed my eyes as I played, my fingers able to locate each individual key effortlessly. My ears were welcomed with the melodic sounds radiating out of the piano. I thought I was in the practice room, but this wasn't the shitty keyboard I was accustomed to. In confusion, I opened my eyes and found my fingers stroking the keys of a grand piano. From the corner of my eye, I could tell that here were people watching me play. They were watching me triumph and nail all the notes, and I had their eyes glued to me. Surprisingly, I didn't panic under the pressure. I didn't crumble in front of the eyes watching me. It was perfect, I was perfect…

_C. _

Fuck.

The music stopped. Muted chatter broke out in the audience. I bit my lip and looked down at the keys. They were out of order, fuck. When I went to play a middle C to begin again, it sounded as though I hit it an octave lower. I tested another note; suddenly it was an octave higher? My fingers flung themselves off the keys and into my lap. The chatter grew louder. Suddenly, I felt everyone's eyes fixated on me. Were they waiting for me to continue, to produce melodies again? I swallowed and tried to start over. It was a cacophony of wrong notes.

A low rumble of laughter started. They didn't want me to do well; they wanted me to fail. Fail so they could laugh at me, fail so they could take pride in knowing that however they fuck up, it would never be as bad as this. I couldn't recover from this. When I stood up to exit the stage, I saw my parents sitting in the front row. They…actually came? There was a bigger knot in my stomach now. Despite my better judgment, I glanced at them to make sure they were actually there. Dad gave me a sad look and my mother is shook her head in disapproval. I disappointed them. It made sense that the _one_ time they're both there, I screw up. Never mind how the times I practiced and nailed this perfectly- I only had one shot, and I blew it. My secret hopes of them both seeing me play were fulfilled, and I just couldn't pull it off.

_No, don't let them see you cry_. _Just wait until you can get home, then cry under all the covers of your bed. Hold in there a little bit longer. You really fucked up, yeah, but don't let them see you cry. It shows that you're weak. You're a weak person, actually, but just don't let them see you cry. If they see you, they'll laugh at you and you'll feel worse. Don't let anyone see you cry._

I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I headed outside. It was too much to handle anymore, and I suddenly felt someone's hands rubbing my shoulders. I sharply pulled away out of shock, and when I turned around I saw that it was my mother.

"What happened there?" she asked sadly. "I thought you were supposed to be good."

_But…I was perfect._

The scene shifts as I realize I'm staring at my physics book. _3:18 AM. _My notebook is in my lap, pencil balanced between my thumb and middle finger. I'm on question four of twelve. None of that ever happened. Thank God. I go to the fridge and find another can of Red Bull in the back, and sip it telling myself it was only a dream. As I go to finish my physics, it becomes harder and harder to convince myself it was just a nightmare. Could something like this happen in real life?

It's scary because it so easily could.


End file.
